But I’m also a Gemini.

The irony is that my first love of song that breached this facade itself means to fade away–and yet they have remained a staple of my soundtrack to life ever since.

I fell in love with Evanescence with their single “Bring Me to Life.” By the time “Going Under” and especially “My Immortal” came out, I was entrenched in their melancholic beauty. I remember memorizing the words to their entire album and spending ours singing it to myself outside. I still imagine fields of paper flowers and candy lullabies. In fact, the imagery of their songs often crops up in my stories: white forests, hiding in trees, last breaths, paradoxes of the soul and the beauty of blood, my tourniquet. When my best friend and I went through a rough time, “My Immortal” became her theme song and mine. I come to define all my most meaningful relationships in the terms of a song. That was hers.

When their second album came out, I got the music from my sister. I loved “Lithium” and “Lacrymosa.” At the time I was the chronologist of a forum-wide roleplay called the Guild Wars II. It was to their music and Nightwish’s that the summary of this massive, hundreds-of-pages-long roleplay was cataloged and color-coded and quantified with carefully composed witticisms and puns. Ah, what fun that was!

Evanescence has been a key artist in two years of my six years writing with NaNoWriMo. In my third year and my sixth, ironic as that may be. Their songs helped inspire my words and keep me motivated all the way through, even when I felt my story was worthy of an early rejection bin called the recycle bin. But with them, I stuck it out.

I came upon their self-titled album by accident. Under the belief they had broken up and not knowing they had come back together, I wasn’t necessarily keeping tabs on their activity any more. I was on Amazon one day and saw their music was recommended. I ordered it almost instantly and waited in anticipation until the package arrived.

I loved their new sound, more rock and less melodrama, though thoroughly classic Evanescence all the way through. At once I gravitated to their song “Sick,” which is the song I’d like to showcase today. The first time I listened to it I didn’t pay much attention to the lyrics and assumed it was all about illness. Now that I’ve heard it more than a dozen times, I know that’s not the case.

Embrace the silence
cause there’s nothing that can change the way I feel
Taken all that you wanted
now there’s nothing left that can change the way I feel

If you’re a longtime reader of my blog, you probably know feelings on silence: I despise it. I think it cripples and kills. But here Amy’s singing to embrace it–and I love that. Tempered by context, I feel she’s saying that I have said my piece, take it or leave it, but you can’t rule me, you can’t make me any different. And that’s what I do–or want to do–all the time. I want to put my foot down and give my point and be done. But I’m kinder than that. I’ll listen. I’ll consider your point. I’ll change my views if sufficient evidence is granted.

But sometimes, with conviction, I’ll stand outspoken. And then, then you must embrace that silence–because all your words are unheard, because all your words have already been given.

The argument is gone.

Someday you’ll know the pain
Someday the light will break through
And nothing you tell yourself will save us from the truth
screaming out

Honesty. It matters. And when you twist your reality to reflect your own skewed thoughts, there’s nothing I can do to help you. You’ve crossed the line. You’ve deluded yourself–a path I will not follow. You don’t understand me, you never will, and what can I say that will change the way you see there world?

There is nothing to be said.

I have a problem tempering my thoughts before I speak them. I end up coming off harsher and more negatively than I intend to–and by the time I realize how the words sound spoken, it’s too late to change them. But what bothers me most, and this is when I let my impulses get the best of me, is when people judge me as they see me, forsaking all the facets they cannot see and will never see. Someday I will break, I fear. I fear further that knowing this I’m prophesying my own downfall. But someday I know there’ll come a time when I cannot contain my distaste, my rampant opposition, to any given statement and I will bare my teeth and raise my claws and call forth all those reasons that make me in all my entirety that no one sees. My past. My home life. My intents and motives. My trials, tribulations. My secrets.

It shall be my downfall. My tragic flaw.

Sick of it all, sick of it all
We will not follow
Sick of it all, sick of it all
They don’t understand how
Sick we are, sick we are
of this bottomless pit of lies
behind closed eyes

We all do this. We all create our own world in our own eyes. Existence is relative. Experience is subjective. And when we believe a lie, we are the knife of our own betrayal. When that window we look through is finally shattered and we see what’s all before us, how will we survive?

We don’t understand how sick we are. How we are plagued by these forces occurring naturally inside all of us at every moment. My literature teacher likes to call it baggage, these things that we bring to the story we’re reading. It’s the lens we see things through. But sometimes I just want the truth.

I’m sick of it, sick of it all.

Hold on, little girl
The end is soon to come

It was about half the times I heard this song before I stopped thinking this line was spoken to a bed-bound lass about to die, suffering and pained. Now I see it as something hopeful, encouraging. Today we struggle against our own false perceptions and those of the people who stand without understanding before us, but the truth will gush forth from our lungs and spread like a flood through this bottomless pit until it’s fulled to the brim. Today we suffer, but tomorrow we survive. Truth will rise to the surface and we will be freed from the tyranny of our own basest humanity.

Salvation will come. Till then we can only hold on.

It made me think of when the autumn comes and I remember how life used to be, how I was a playful yet shy little boy who defined my life in terms of how full my Pokedex was and whether or not I had caught the last episode of Digimon. I miss those days–not for their content, but for their simplicity. There were no such things as deadlines. There were small vocabularies. Complex numbers were still just imaginary.

So I did what I always did, in those moments before class began, or before it ended, or before my teacher next spoke: I wrote.

Yesterday

An imagined past
returned to
in the belief that
things were better then
and we could recreate them
by recreating
where we came from
and where we’re going
and how to improve
to live better
and return to
where we want to be

But it’s never so simple as that, is it? As I follow my goals this year, even on paper these simple tasks–drink water, meditate, write in my journal–these things I now define myself by, or wish to be defined by, these things were not the things that I had back then. The past has passed us by. How can I make myself better by returning to it? Shouldn’t I instead try to salvage what’s left of the future?

* * *

Back then, I loved the winter. I still do love the winter. Maybe it’s insecurity, but I don’t like the summer. Too much skin. Too little clothes to guard us. Pale September and all that, “all my armor falling down…” Look it up if you don’t know where I’m going. Beautiful song. Beautiful voice. Makes me want life to be a film in black and white, silent if it should be, fresh and crisp like a winter’s night.

I lived upstate in New York in the mountains where we had two seasons: Mud season and snow season. The cold white snow would wrap around me as I founded angels fallen to the earth. I recall campfires and marshmallows and ghost stories, searching the ground for young branches to burn, and where was I going with this?

The full moon shed its silver light upon something more a mirror than crystallized water. Where was I going with this? It stared back at me like the surface of the frozen lake, so calm in our imaginations, yet scratched by the blades we used to walk across it, scratched by the blades I could not yet stand upon. Where was I going?

Winters Remembered

Mountain smoke rises

from the fires we gather round

waiting for sunlight

Afterwards, there would be hot chocolate. Always hot chocolate. And then we would gather our yarn and crochet till the morning came, dramatized of course. We never stayed up all night, except on New Years. Then I fell in love with Devon Sawa while Christina Ricci drove me to his house in my dreams.

My… how the strangest things are always the ones to stay.

* * *

Time is a strange creature, turns flesh to leather and makes wine even better, causes us to forget what we just ate for dinner (eggs and turkey bacon–so glad I still remember, but it’ll pass, it always does) yet holds onto the most obscure moments that litter our myriad pasts.

How do we measure time? In seconds, in heartbeats, in moments of connection, in pages reads, in words written? Words written leads me to word counts, to memories of all six successful NaNoWriMos I’ve written in, to journal assignments this semester and how I strain for my first fifty words with nothing to say and then run over, run to the point of excess and a dire need to trim it down, to cut away the pieces of myself that I have already bled upon the screen.

One Hundred Words

Why does the word count start at one? I’m at ten. I must write one hundred words. Almost twenty done. One fifth there. I’m on my way to save the day and here is another ten to bring me closer to the end and what would I do if I could write you the world and what would you do if I gave it to you and what, what, what would be the point if there were no point at all and in every moment, a strand of light became the thread of thought that was woven into a rope that wrapped around us and tied us to something true, to something deeper than me or you. What would I say, what would I spin, what angle would this picture bring when I see you, and you see me, and somewhere something else is free yet we are bound until we’re found and therein you can welcome me and I can take you in and we can sin and sin and sin sin sin. And then happily, untie this rope made of a thousand million strands of light and I could write you the world and give it to you and then, then counted, numbered, turned to stone, we could be immortal all on our own.

* * *

And here I am again. Back where I began. Are you with me this time?

Yes, I came down with a stomach flu this past weekend and I think I’m not back to my full self again, but this is ridiculous. I yawn all day. I can barely focus on being awake. I could roll over asleep at any moment.

The culprit? Reading.

I love reading. I learn best by reading. But with four reading-intensive courses, the reading assignments are mountainous. Not only do I have weekly chapters to read in multiple classes, I also have “short” stories to read, reread, and annotate, stories for workshopping to read and review, and entire mythologies to tackle–and everything has a quiz attached to it. For example, yesterday I read the entire Iliad. Yes, I’ve read it before. But not recently enough to pass the test on it.

In a word, I’m word-weary. How can I read more in less time? How can I read attentively without expending all my mental energy on a single page? How do English majors do it all day long?

I’m open for suggestions.

If I can pass on but one lesson before I die, it’s that information is power and you only need information to arm yourself against all the evils of the world. Some may argue it also takes action to implement that information and put it to use, but even action means nothing without information.

If I can impart two lessons before I die, the second would be that we each–as individuals–have the power to effect change upon the universe itself. A single action can seem small and insignificant in the moment, but the consequences are perpetual and the tides, once set in motion, will never return to the same shore.

I’d like to believe that reading these words will inspire you to inform yourself about these dangerous bills. I’d like to believe that reading these words will compel you to take action and fight for a difference in your world and mine. But that, I fear, might be a beautiful lie.

Please prove me wrong.

Arm yourself with information and fight to the end with all of your ammunition: Your voice, your keyboard, your phone, and a pen.

I looked at him and said, “My hope is to be at State, so… yes.”

It was only after he had walked away and I was walking back to my kids that I clutched at my chest and shook my head, whispering to myself, I can’t believe it’s finally true. It’s all suddenly real now. It’s hard to believe that I’ve reached the end at last.

Ever since my childhood I’ve come to expect instabilities and upheavals naturally. Before I turned eight my family had moved at least that many times. I lost friends almost as quickly as I met new people. Once we lived in a seemingly long-term house, I found the earth trembled in other ways: New students at class, new teachers, new jobs that my parents had, new courses each year–new friends online, computers, the internet–and forums! And listservs! And Google. So much Google.

It’s partly in effect why I define chaos as a state of imperceivable order. It’s partly the reason why I hold onto all the things I hold onto. It’s partly the reason why anything that persists in my life longer than six years becomes a grail in my personal existence.

This year marks the seventh year I’ve been at my current job. I owe it my thanks for many things. So many things. So much gratitude.

When I worked my first year as a volunteer, I did not consider myself Jewish. Standing in prayers brought reminiscent thoughts evoked by melody and practice, but they stirred nothing inside me. This subtly changed over the course of a couple years as the teacher’s I worked under taught me things on top of what they were teaching in class and I learned new facets of Judaism I had never known before.

It was one Wednesday after teaching when I met my first male crush. It was Hebrew High. He was from the Temple. He shook my hand and all I could think of was how firm his handshake was, how beautiful was his face–his eyes especially–and I wrote poetry, such sappy and sentimental poetry to him for days, for weeks, for months… It was destined to be unrequited, but if not for the feelings I felt for him, I never would have discovered in myself my own identity.

These days I don’t hold onto many physical possessions, except for books (some of which I will eventually read and part with) and the CDs of my most cherished artists (a collection that has grown steadily this year and the last when all my favorite artists all decided to release new music at the same). Other than those items, though, and a small (alright, appreciable) collection of video games and DVDs and pictures and posters, I don’t have many belongings on display. However, there are some that don’t fit the theme.

On top of my first bookshelf you’ll see an old glass jar modge-podged with tissue paper and a shot glass etched with Shields of David and marine animals, relics from my own time as a student at this Hebrew school. On my DVD/journal stand you’ll see a trinket box and besides my door a hamsa I got for my Bar Mitzvah in 2002. Next to the trinket box is a mug from Israel I got as a gift from the teacher I worked with my second year as a madrich, a teacher’s aid; it has a winter design on one side and a summer design on the other; I rotate it periodically. On my second bookshelf you’ll find a painted plastic Miriam’s cup I made in my third year and a pressed metal foil tzedakah box hailing from my first or second. On top of my dresser is a wooden dreidel colored in the colors of Harry Potter’s four houses that I made before Chanukah. In the bin under my bed is an illustrated story of creation that was drawn by my kids the first year I taught there.

I mentioned in an earlier post how I feel I don’t come off as Jewish very evidently when you meet me. That’s not the case with my bedroom. In addition to all of these, there’s a wine glass on my bookshelf, a second hamsa I got in the Druze village while I was in Israel hanging on my wall alongside a poster of soldiers standing at the Kotel and a painting of Safed by Reuven Rubin and a shofar I sanded and shellacked my last year as a madrich. Next to my bed is a pipe-cleaner and string dream catcher in the shape of a Magen David we made last year for Israeli Independence Day, reflection on our dreams just as the national anthem, HaTikvah, reflects on our hopes. The moment you come into my room my Jewishness is evident. How then do I not wear it so easily on my sleeve?

And I didn’t even mention my extensive personal library of Judaic literature! I’ll save that for another day.

The point is, my nearly seven years at this religious school–my eighteen combined years of instruction and instructing–have constituted the better part of my twenty-two years on this earth. More than eighty percent of my life I have spent here on one side of the classroom or the other. That’s got to mean something.

And next year it’ll be gone.

No, it won’t be gone. It’ll be another page in my history, a defining chapter, but a part of the past. The end, they would say, is bittersweet. On the one hand, I’m looking forward to new beginnings, new challenges, new frontiers to overcome, yet on the other, I’m leaving behind something that’s been a part of me for nearly two decades.

The gravity of that has yet to fully sink in.

Songs inspire me. They narrate my life. And occasionally I find a song that resonates with me so perfectly for a time I play it on repeat until the words are burned in my cochleas like the frozen waves of arctic oceans. What better way can I show my love and appreciation for these songs and the artists that made them than by writing about them?

I first heard Foster the People on my way to Myrtle Beach for a conference I attended with school early October. Since then, “Pumped Up Kicks” has slowly but surely become an audio obsession. When I got an iTunes gift card over Chanukah, getting their full album Torches was an easy decision. What I didn’t expect was that I would fall in love with another song, their song titled “Waste.”

Now, when you hear a title like that, you don’t expect anything amazing. Actually, I don’t know what you expect when you hear a song called “Waste,” but I got so much more than I ever could have expected from it.

The song stars off unassuming enough:

I’ll hold your hand when you are feelin’ mad at me
When the monsters they won’t go
And your windows won’t close
I’ll pretend to see what you see

But it really reaches a magnificent meaning with the chorus:

And every day that you want to waste, that you want to waste, you can
And every day that you want to wake up, that you want to wake, you can
And every day that you want to change, that you want to change, yeah
I’ll help you see it through because I just really want to be with you

Seems kind of odd, doesn’t it? If you want to waste, you can. If you want to wake up, you can. At first I simply liked how the song sounded, but as I heard it again and again (I have a tendency to play entire CDs on repeat while I wash the dishes and clean), and as I listened to the rest of the song’s lyrics, it began to garner a deeper meaning than mere words would hold.

I like to read others’ interpretations of songs to see if the artist has mentioned anything about the inspiration or intent behind the words. Many people seem to state the obvious: It’s about a relationship with one partner going through some troubled times (addiction, depression, mental issues…) and the other being supportive and loving them no matter what “monsters” or demons pull them down. It’s a beautiful thought, but I don’t think that’s all there is to the song. At least, not all it evokes for me.

You know its funny how freedom can make us feel contained
When the muscles in our legs aren’t used to all the walking
I know if you could snap both your fingers then you’d escape with me
But in the meantime I’ll just wait here and listen to you when you speak… or scream

Freedom’s an interesting condition–and when only parts of us feel free, it’s easy to use what freedom we have to control ourselves. People who don’t feel in control of larger things in life control the smaller things to make them feel in charge of themselves. They eat less or eat more, because it’s under they’re control. They don’t sleep. They cut themselves. A taste of freedom warrants the want for more–and when you can’t have more, you abuse what freedom you have to feel complete.

But sometimes freedom isn’t the problem. Sometimes the possibilities feel further than we can reach.

When I listen to “Waste,” especially when they get to the chorus, I think of someone fighting off suicide–a man trying to talk his friend out of the unthinkable. He’s giving complete freedom to the victim, giving him permission to waste as many days just sleeping as he wants to, or to wake up and do whatever he wants to, and if he wants to change, he’ll be there to help him–because he wants his friend to live.

When I listen to this song, it brings me back to those time when I was the one in need of a friend to hold me down and those times when I was the friend holding on to others. That willingness to give the world to someone simply because you love them so much… it’s a beautiful thing, and I think this song speaks about it eloquently and elegantly. It says, “I’m giving you permission to live. Just don’t die.”

Sometimes that’s all you need to hear.

And if you need to scream, then scream. And if you need to cry, then cry. Because I’ll be here by your side through all of it. Because I just really want to be with you.

McKenzie waved to her parents outside the window as the train grumbled to a shaky start. She stood on her seat and pressed her face into the glass as they moved sideways out of her vision. At last she could just barely see them still waving, her mother running after them with her scarf blowing in the wind and her hat wobbling, and then they were gone. McKenzie stayed frozen to the window until the train rounded a bend and she plopped back into her seat.

“Well,” she said to herself, “that was fun.”

The small girl crossed her arms and stared across the small compartment at her younger brother, Ezra. He was bundled up so tightly that he looked more like a pile of coats and mittens than an actual person. McKenzie just blew a tuft of hair out of her eyes and shook her head.

Mommy and Daddy had only said it would be a few hours until nightfall, and then they would go to sleep, and then when they woke up, they would be in North Carolina where Grandma and Grandpa lived. What McKenzie didn’t get, however, was why they had to go south to get to North Carolina. Shouldn’t they go north to get to North Carolina?

Whatever.

She sidled along her seat and brought her face close to the window. Outside, she saw lots of nature like the pictures in calendars or stuff. McKenzie blew a circle of fog onto the glass and then drew a happy face. The misty white face smiled back at her for a moment until it began to slowly melt away. Finally only the nose was left. McKenzie rubbed her hand against it and the whole face vanished.

“Kenzie?”

She looked over at Ezra. “What?”

“I have to pee.”

McKenzie rolled her eyes and stood up. “Ok, Ezra, let’s go.” She grabbed her brother’s hand and began leading him into the aisle. “But make it quick!”

* * *

Ezra was slumped asleep on the other side of their compartment when McKenzie glanced down at him hours later. She herself was still perched on her seat, face to the window, this time looking out into the dense fog that they had plunged into a few minutes before. It was so white and fluffy it was like cotton candy, and yet just past its softness, McKenzie was certain something was spiraling through the fog next to them.

Then there was a wretched screech and the train shook at it went on. There was a bump, then another, and the whole train trembled around them before it jerked to a complete stop. Ezra tumbled onto the floor and McKenzie was flung into the back of her seat before tumbling onto the floor next to her brother. Above them the lights flickered.

“Ow, ow, ow,” McKenzie groaned as she sat up, rubbing herself all over.

“What happened?” Ezra said as he, too, sat up.

“The train stopped,” McKenzie said. “You okay?”

“Yep,” Ezra said. McKenzie wasn’t surprised; he was in so many coats, he probably hadn’t felt anything.

“I don’t get it,” McKenzie said as she stood up and pressed herself into the window again. “Why’d the train stop?”

She stared into the fog. And then kept staring, certain that something was stirring out there, something big.

“Kenzie?”

“Shh! I’m trying to pay attention!”

“Uh, Kenzie?”

“Not now, Ezra! I’m trying to see–”

“Kenzie!”

“What?” McKenzie whirled around, spinning herself so fast that she slipped and landed on her bum. And staring down at them was something stirring, definitely something big.

It looked like a pair of large eyes on the other side of the glass, a pair eyes belonging to a catlike white face that was twisting down around the train to look in through the top of the window. Its nostrils flared, fogging the window from the outside, and when the glass cleared, all they saw was empty fog once again.

“What was that?” McKenzie shouted as she jumped up and rushed into the glass again. No matter how much she looked in all directions, however, the creature was nowhere to be seen.

“Come on,” McKenzie said as she grabbed Ezra’s hand, “we’re finding out what that thing was!”

She pushed open the compartment door and the whole train was pandemonium. Men and women were running in all directions; people were crowding around all the windows; and people just woken from sleep were screaming.

Determined to figure it all out, McKenzie wasn’t intimidated by any of this. She slid against the aisle wall and pulled Ezra slowly behind her as she dodged adults hurtling themselves every which way and over and under dislodged luggage that had spilled onto the floor. Finally, they made it to the end of the train car and McKenzie stared up at the small window set in the door.

“You should stay inside,” she said.

“No, Kenzie! Me go, too!”

McKenzie looked down at Ezra and his beady eyes, which were his only features that she could see with how tightly his hood was drawn shut.

“Well,” she said, “I might need backup.”

And then she reached up and opened the door.

A gust of cold air whipped in beside them, twirling in flakes of snow and some bits of broken leaves. None of the adults seemed to notice, however, so she slipped out onto the small step just outside the door and pulled Ezra right up beside her. There was a thud behind them and the door was shoved shut. Someone probably fell into it, McKenzie figured.

What now? She looked all around, but with all the fog and the two train cars, she really couldn’t see anything.

The ladder! She could climb onto the roof and then she would surely see what that catlike thing had been!

“Ok, Ezra,” she said and turned her brother to face her squarely. “I’m going to climb up. You stay here. Promise?”

Ezra began to shake his head.

“Promise?” McKenzie repeated more sternly.

“Okay,” Ezra mumbled. “Promise.”

“Good,” McKenzie said. “I’ll be right back!” She grabbed onto the ladder and then hoisted herself up, one rung at a time. It wasn’t too far to go after she’d helped Mommy and Daddy put the tree-topper on their tree before Christmas. Finally she reached the top and stood up, wobbly at first, but then quickly gaining her balance.

But there still wasn’t anything! She turned around and around, but there was nothing. Only the same wet fog she had seen through the window, only the fog and some snowflakes and… and what was that?

McKenzie held out her hands and watched as small white hairs blew in the wind and caught on the threads of her mittens. She brought her hands closer to get a better look at them, but just as she did, the train jerked forward and she lost her balance. She slipped in the snow, right over the ledge, and was sliding toward the edge–

Then she hit something and stopped. All the wind was sucked from her lungs as whatever she had landed on began writhing around her. Something furry and wet touched her cheek and McKenzie finally opened her eyes. She was face-to-face with the catlike face she had seen before!

It sniffed her, and then the face retreated. Only then did McKenzie realize that this furry little face was only the head of a much longer, snakelike creature–and three other furry serpents were wrapped around her, holding her in the sky!

McKenzie tried not to scream (they had caught her, after all), but suddenly she was moving again, fast through the air, and a small screech escaped her lips. She was swung around, right through the fog, until she saw a much larger and much more menacing face. It’s mouth opened slowly and McKenzie cringed.

“RRrrroaarrorrroorrrooooooar!”

McKenzie felt the hot breath blow over her and swore that she was about to be eaten. But instead, the things holding her swung her through the air once more (her stomach tumbled up and down a couple times) until she was held over the front of the train, smoke still puffing up into the fog. It took her a moment to see what it was trying to show her, but then she saw it.

It was much larger than a person, but still much smaller than whatever had picked her up. It was slumped over the track like a large gorilla, its face flat and menacing, but what stood out the most were its hands: Instead of fingers, it has furry serpents each with their own face at the end. Her stomach jumped up inside her when she realized that all of the cat-snakes holding her were actually the giant’s fingers!

“Rrrooarroorrrr!”

McKenzie hummed for a moment. “But what can I do? I–I can’t move it, it’s took big!”

The giant must not have listened well, however, because the moment McKenzie said “move,” it had swung her around and placed her atop the smaller giant lying across the tracks. It was warm beneath her, rising and falling under her as it breathed.

“It must be sleeping,” McKenzie said as the giant’s living fingers retreated from around her. She crawled across the giant’s furry body until she was right next to its face. Its eyes were closed and its mouth was open; an icicle of drool hung out from between a couple of its teeth.

“Wake up!” McKenzie shouted at it, right next to its ear. “Come on, wake up!” She kept on yelling, but no matter how loud she screamed, not a thing stirred the giant.

Finally, McKenzie plopped down on it–and then it startled awake, standing up so fast McKenzie tumbled down onto the train tracks. The light fell on her face as the massive machine began to move again. McKenzie was frozen in place and couldn’t move. Any second the train would reach her and then it would all be over, forever!

She shut her eyes and recoiled right as something struck her and she went soaring upwards. But… she didn’t hurt. McKenzie opened her eyes and saw the smaller fingers of the little giant holding her and the foggy monster pulled itself onto the train. Car after it car it carried her over until she saw Ezra clinging to the door between two of them.

“Stop!” she shouted and the giant stopped. It looked down at her and then down at Ezra and then back at her.

“Rrawr?”

“I know,” McKenzie said, “I had fun, too, but now I have to go back inside.”

“Rrorroooooo.”

The giant licked her–”EW!”–and then placed her gently next to Ezra. As its fingers unwrapped from around her, she hugged them gently and then watched as they retreated upwards.

“Come on, Ezra,” McKenzie said, shoving open the door and dashing inside with her little brother behind her, “Quick!”

They reached their cabin just in time: The giant had its head hanging over the top of the train, looking in on them both. McKenzie waved to it (Ezra waved, too) and then the giant tried waving back. But he couldn’t hold on with only one hand, so he tumbled off the train and vanished into the fog instead.

McKenzie rushed up to the window, but by the time she had gotten there, the fog had all vanished and the only thing she saw was a clear, moonlit night with a white cloud retreating behind them.

“Kenzie,” Ezra said.

“What, Ezra?”

“How long till we get to Grandma’s house?”

McKenzie stared out the window for a moment more and then turned to her brother. “Well,” she said, “not till morning.” She helped Ezra onto his seat and then sat down opposite him just as before. “So go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay, Kenzie.” Ezra rolled onto his side and was instantly out.

McKenzie, however, was as awake as she had ever been. She’d met a giant! Two giants actually! She couldn’t wait till they arrived–she wanted to tell Grandma and Grandpa everything!

The End

Today I had the honor of giving the d’var Torah, which in Hebrew means “words on the Torah.” It’s comparable to a sermon, except it’s not preaching, it’s teaching. See, Jews don’t proselytize–we perseverate. And with all our perseverative studying, it’s only natural to share it with others (studying the Torah is itself a commandment).

In any case, though short and sweet and written with a younger audience in mind, I thought I may as well share the drash here for anyone who may wish to read it.

This morning we read parashat Va-Y’chi, the last parashah in the book of Genesis, which is the first book of the Torah. In Va-Y’chi, Jacob (also known as Israel) is 147 years old when he dies. After his death, Joseph buries him in the Cave of Machpelah, where Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, and Leah had all been buried.

When Joseph returns to Egypt, where the Israelites are all living in the region called Goshen, his brothers are afraid what he might do to them. After all, they had sold him into slavery when he was a boy! The brothers decide to tell Joseph that their father had told him to forgive his brothers. Joseph, however, simply laughs and says that although they had meant him harm, it was God’s will that he end up in Egypt, so that he could save many people’s lives.

Va-Y’chi‘s theme is family. Jacob, as he’s dying, gives a blessing to Joseph’s children, Ephraim and Manasseh, and then gives his final words to his other sons as well, blessing them each in their own unique way. For example, Judah will be like the lion, and Benjamin will be like the wolf. They’re all different people and they have all gone their own ways, but just the same, they’re all brothers and they’re all Israel’s sons. The importance of family is further enshrined when Jacob is buried with his parents and grandparents and when Joseph forgives his brothers.

I think the lesson we can learn from this parashah is that even though we can be very different people, we’re all still family. Not just with our brothers and sisters, but with all Jews, everywhere. We each have different talents and different looks and even different languages, but we’re all God’s people, and when we remember that, it’s easier to set aside our difference and just be happy together.

“If it weren’t Friday?” But–but the weekends are supposed to be for fun! And aren’t video games fun? Well, yes, but you see, that’s not the only thing the weekends are for….

When I was in Israel, a friend of mine remarked that if I wanted to be more observant of Shabbat, to slowly eliminate things I shouldn’t do on Shabbat. Then, as I build better habits, to cut away even more. I’ve done this for a while, and now there are a few things I no longer do: I don’t cut my nails or shave, and… and… and maybe I haven’t gotten as far as I’d like to, though I swore I added something else….

I know I thought a while back about cutting video games out of my Shabbat routine, so from sundown on Friday to sundown on Saturday I would not touch them at all. But since I didn’t play video games at the time, I didn’t. After all, if there wasn’t any effort involved to change my behavior, what meaning would be gained from changing it?

Obviously, that has changed. So now I am cutting video games our of my Shabbat routine. I like video games. They’re fun. They bring back good memories. They make me flex my mind with puzzles and stuff. But now, on Shabbat, they are no more. Gone. Nada. Nothing.

Some probably wonder why I bother. How observant I am doesn’t change how I believe or even what I believe. But changing behavior does change thought patterns. By restricting myself, even only slightly, I’m drawing my attention to the cause of the limitation–and thus being more mindful of the Sabbath. The Sabbath is all about rest, and didn’t I say taking care of myself is a goal this year, and didn’t I say rest is one of the three pillars of taking care of myself? It all comes together.

Perhaps just as importantly is that, when I cut out some things, I make time for other things. Without video games to distract me, I’ll enjoy time with friends and family, I’ll read, I’ll write. I’ll do sudoku to ease my mind toward those oft-desired delta waves instead of using The Ocarina of Time 3D to do it. Both will get the job done, and one only requires pad and pencil (and occasionally an eraser, too).

Observing Shabbat also reminds me how it feels to be Jewish. Just like Puritan values have become mainstream secular in the US today (why do we obsess over money? The truth might surprise you), my own Jewish beliefs have become secular as well. Keeping kosher? It’s habitual. Being studious and respectful of my teachers? Common courtesy. All of these values and ethics–they’re a part of who I am, and none of them as I embody them day to day remind me explicitly where they have come from: My Jewish upbringing and my Jewish identity.

Identity is something I know a lot about. Being gay, you have to know yourself and be able to justify yourself a lot younger than most other people. Self-awareness becomes ingrained in a way that doesn’t happen for the average person. Being Jewish does that in a way, too, but people don’t give me as many funny faces for being Jewish as they do for being gay. I don’t have to defend being Jewish. Nobody’s trying to change my beliefs or take away my rights because I don’t believe in Jesus. But it feels like I have to defend being gay all the time. People are trying to change my sexuality. They are trying to take my rights away. So when it comes to building identity and showing it to others, it seems I put more effort into being gay than being Jewish.

I don’t like how I worded that. I’m not “putting effort” into either one. It’s not like I have to work hard to be attracted to guys or that I have to discipline myself to think Jewish thoughts. However, being gay demands visibility–without it, how will hearts ever be changed and discrimination defeated? Being Jewish, on the other hand, can pass unnoticed because it’s never an issue. So what I mean to say is that I often feel I put more of myself into being visibly gay than I put into being visibly Jewish. Both are equally as meaningful and personal to me, but when I have to fight to be accepted on one side but not the other, that’s the side I feel closer to daily.

I don’t think I’m doing a good job getting to my point. My point is that being Jewish means something to me–or at least I feel like it does. But not doing Jewish things takes some of that specialness away. When we lit Chanukah candles, it felt right. When I get to stand in services, even when I’m dead tired, I feel energized and awakened. Studying the Pirkei Avot opens me to new aspects of my history. But on a daily basis, I don’t do these things, and then I lose touch with that warmth that being Jewish and feeling my Jewishness give me.

Which is why it means something, if to no one else than to me, when I try to be more observant of Shabbat. Because when I forget to shave Friday afternoon and see myself in the mirror Saturday morning, or when I really needed to cut my nails and forgot, or when I’m craving some monster battles or horse riding but simply cannot play, it reminds me of the spirit of the day, of the rest I should be espousing, and for a few brief seconds I get to taste that Sabbath delight.

Anyways, today starts the new year. And with the new year comes new goals for myself, new endeavors, and new opportunities.

Will you join me?

I’ve thought long and hard about the goals I’d like to make this year, and ordinarily I’d make a lot. I remember filling up entire notebooks with to-do lists for the year and then breaking them into monthly goals and then failing to meet most of them. However, I’ve learned that too much can change in a year to make year-long goals workable unless they’re very specific yet general enough–and important enough–to weather all the storms that any year can through at you. Knowing that I’ll be moving to State in the fall also weighs on the decisions I’m making now; after all, some goals just won’t make much sense once I’m there, while others will help me more then than now.

Like I said, general but specific.

Goal #1: Take Care of Myself

Get in better shape? So last year!

This year, I’m vowing to take better care of myself. Health and fitness feel great, and when you’re in good shape, everything is easier–thinking, talking, walking, approaching people. I’m breaking this goal into three specific areas: Staying hydrated, exercising, and relaxing.

First there was water. One of the first lessons we learned in Israel was the saying “Pipi tzahov, lo tov! Pipi lavan, ze mitzuyan!” That is: “Yellow pee? Not good! White [clear] pee? That’s great!” It’s a saying taught to children to ensure they drink enough, since in the desert, not drinking enough can kill you. I drank bottles of water every day, and when I got home, that habit went away. However, water flushes out impurities from your body, fights dry skin, and curbs your appetite. By the end of year, I’d like to drink a full bottle of water every day.

Next is exercising. It feels good and makes you look great. I was in the best shape of my life when I exercised two and three times a week, and that’s what I’d like to get back to this year. By the end of the year, I’d like to work out three times a week, for thirty minutes each time.

Last is relaxing. I put myself under too much stress to not make this a priority. I know how to meditate. I’ve been attuned to Reiki II. I know how to calm myself and soothe my mind–but I don’t. This needs to change, for both my health and my hairline. Therefore, by the end of the year, I’d like to meditate twice a week for fifteen minutes each.

January Goals: This month, I’d like to exercise for at least fifteen minutes at least once a week, meditate for at least five minutes at least once a week, and drink a full bottle of water every three days.

Goal #2: Make History

I’ve spoken a lot about how important it is to my sanity that I stay active with my journal, but I don’t actually get around to writing in it as much as I much as I should. It calms me. It helps me remember and process things. It really is how I hold onto my sanity, and when I lose time journalling, I end up irritable, stressed, and unable to sleep. I need to journal to live. It’s just a part of who I’ve become. To remedy this, by the end of the year I’d like to write in my journal every day.

January Goals: This month, to get started, I want to catch up on all my past-due journaling and write in my journal at least twice a week.

Goal #3: Hit the Road

Learn to drive. Isn’t that saying enough already? I mean, I know I’ll be able to have full access to Raleigh bus transportation once I’m at State, but driving is a much-needed and important skill to have in any modern society. I need to join the ranks behind the steering wheel. If for nothing else, I need the valid ID. Renewing my permit every year is getting old and outright embarassing.

January Goal: Information is power. Even if I can’t get behind the wheel this month (I’ve still got to see how schedules are working out this semester), I need to do as much information-gathering as I can–whether it’s about how to quell irrational fears or whatnot, I need to do something. I’ll define what it is as I get to it.

What? That’s it?!

Um… yes, yes it is. You’re probably wondering why two of my most important goals are absent: Being a good friend and being good in school. It’s quite simple, although each for different reasons.

First, school. I’m naturally a perfectionist. I want to do my best at everything I do without needing to make a goal of it. Second, putting this down as a yearly goal is pointless: Goals are to improve myself, not perpetuate what I’m already doing–and if I reach my other goals, this one will follow naturally. Besides, I feel like making a goal out of good grades is like putting “get the mail” on your to-do list–right after you got it, just so you can cross it off. It’s inflating the feeling of success. I don’t need that this year.

Next, friendship. Friends are no less important to me now than they were yesterday, but “being a better friend” is just too vague to make a goal out of it. My friends are not items on a checklist: They’re people that I love and cherish. That’s all the reason I need to stay in touch with them as much as I can. Life will still throw things at me, and there will surely be times when I fall out of touch, but if I can reduce the amount of stress in my life and boost my energy, then making time to be with my friends will happen naturally. Every year I’ve made this goal I’ve failed this goal. It’s time to stop itemizing and just act.

And with that, my year shall be complete. So what are some of your resolutions or goals? Maybe you should share them here, and then we’ll fight for all of our goals together!